


Stitches

by Crownonymous



Series: Whumptober 2019 [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Qunari Culture and Customs, Whumptober 2019, brief mention of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-27
Updated: 2019-11-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:00:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21586513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crownonymous/pseuds/Crownonymous
Summary: Qunari mages aren't treated well
Relationships: Male Adaar/Cassandra Pentaghast
Series: Whumptober 2019 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1522484
Kudos: 41





	Stitches

**Author's Note:**

> Day 11 of Whumptober 2019. First posted on my tumblr, crossposting on AO3.

Even when Cassandra frowned, she was beautiful. Then again, no matter what happened, Adaar had always found her beautiful. He found her beautiful when she stood over him in Haven’s cell, rage bubbling under the surface. He found her beautiful when she was caked head to toe in the blood of Corypheus’ minions. He found her beautiful when she looked at him with irritation and made a disgusted noise.

Cassandra was beautiful. More so when they lay in bed together in the Inquisitor’s Chamber, the highest tower in Skyhold. Nothing reached them here. Not the mage-templar war. Not Corypheus. Not the Rifts. Not the impending siege on Adamant the Inquisition was about to launch in a few months’ time.

Nothing.

Cassandra had started the conversation hesitantly. “You mentioned mages under the Qun.” Her frown deepened. Curiosity swam in her eyes, but she refrained from saying another word until Adaar nodded, ever mindful about his past and the horrors he had to endure. Maker, he loved her so. “I may have understood it wrong and forgive me if I sound inconsiderate, but it sounded like the mages were tortured.”

Was it torture? He didn’t know, so he shrugged. It was a habit he picked up from the humans in the Valo-kas. They always shrugged when they did not know the answer and it was better than the stoic stillness that had been beaten into his bones. “I do not know if it is. I have nothing with which to compare my life to.”

Cassandra’s hair was long. He wanted to run his fingers through them again, if he was allowed. Adaar softly played with a loose strand that fell on Cassandra’s shoulder. She leaned her head against him, soft and vulnerable. Her heart beat the same rhythm as his “From what you have told me, the Qun treat mages like animals.”

Qunari mages, Saarebas, were kept in cages. Shackled, necks heavy with thick iron and mouths sewn shut. Wrists manacled, thick chains weighing down their bodies. Horns cut off, metal masks blinding them to what their handlers deemed unnecessary. They slept in cages, standing up, pressed so tightly together that heat pulsed through them as one, as a unit. The stitches on their mouths were ripped out to allow food once a week. Water was dripped down their throats when they behaved.

It was odd. Adaar had lived that life, yet it felt so far away. A mere memory. A nightmare. A life that wasn’t his own. Collecting his thoughts on the subject proved to be far more difficult than he anticipated. Silence stretched between them. Cassandra waited patiently, her fingers tracing indiscernible patterns on Adarr’s abdomen.

It took a while for Adaar to find his words.“If I am to use recent experience as an example, the Saarebas are treated comparatively worse.” Beatings. Whippings. Dismemberment. If what the ‘good’ Saarebas like him endured was torture, he shuddered to think of the punishment that befell the ‘bad’ ones. “From what I have seen of Ferelden, dogs are treated most excellently.”

Distinctly, Adaar heard Cassandra mutter “Fereldans and their Mabaris” under her breath. He sighed lovingly and twirled the strand of her hair around his finger. She let him.

Cassandra looked at his face. Her eyes fell on his lips, on the thin mark from the corner of his right lip down to his chin, to the scars where stitches used to be. Adaar frowned. “They are easier to see up close,” she said. Her voice was soft, but they felt deafening in the silence.

Around Adaar’s mouth were slightly discoloured dots. Remnants from when Adaar could not speak at all, when he could not so much as part his lips. He felt Cassandra’s hand twine with his own, her fingers smaller, more delicate, tracing the callouses on his palms. “All of the Saarebas have their mouths sewn shut. It is also fairly common to cut out their tongues entirely. I am considered fortunate that it was deemed unnecessary to cut out my tongue. I was very obedient.”

The expression on his lover’s face -and oh, how fortunate was he to call someone like Cassandra his lover- darkened. Storms raged behind her eyes and her free hand clenched into an angry fist. “I’m assuming that your decision to free the mages in Redcliffe was because of this?” He said nothing. It was a decision that he would stand by until the end, no matter who might disagree with him. Cassandra continued. “You were afraid that the Circles would begin to mistreat mages to this extent.”

Adaar nodded slowly, carefully. The last time, he impaled a horn into the headboard and needed someone to break the wood to free him. He was much more aware this time. “I fear needles.” The sudden change caused Cassandra to blink. She was still looking at him, and confusion was evident on her face. “I am aware of the medicinal use needles have. I am aware that healers use them to close open wounds and allow a person to heal, to give someone the chance to live another day.”

They were used to silence him, silence others like him. Stitch their lips shut and render them helpless, unable to say even a single word. Stitches that felt as heavy as the chains wrung tight around their necks.

“I am afraid of needles,” he repeated. “If I am given a choice, I would prefer the company of Death over my flesh being stitched once more.” Both of Cassandra’s hands now held onto one of Adaar’s. Her eyes never left him, glassy though they may be. She trembled. Adaar continued to speak, though his voice felt like lead.

“Varric has informed me of the tragedy that has befallen Kirkwall. The pain. The suffering. The mistreatment. The hell which should not have been experienced by any Man, Elf, of Qunari.” Adaar looked at her, the woman he loved so dearly, and smiled, though the gesture remained a foreign concept to him. He never had gotten used to smiling. “I will not wait for the time when your mages begin to fear needles as I do.”

His lips tingled, the phantom sensation of the needle digging into his flesh, threading his lips shut, resurfaced once more. He opened and closed his mouth, just to make sure that he still could. Cassandra traced the movement with her eyes. She stared at Adaar’s scars.

His smile thinned. “Is it visually unappealing?” He was covered in scars; both of them were. Cassandra and Adaar both had pink slashes across their flesh from angry swords, or battered speckles from maces. Cassandra had three deep gouges on her side from a bear attack. Adaar had a few zigzag patterns of from lightning back when he couldn’t quite control his magic well enough.

Still, seeing one with discoloured flesh around their lips, the indents, the evidence of having one’s mouth forcibly shut was an uncommon occurrence. But his lover did not look disgusted. She remained soft, her eyes brimming with tenderness She lifted a finger and traced over where the stitches used to be. Adaar let her. “You have never looked more handsome, my love.”

He loved her. He loved her he loved her he loved her. So much. He shifted their positions, Cassandra sitting on his lap, facing him, his hands resting on her hips, hers now wrapped around his neck. Cassandra continued to look ponderously at the scars around his mouth. “Did they hurt?”

“I do not think I am capable of feeling pain anymore.” Even as a memory.

Cassandra said nothing more that night. She merely kissed him. His chapped lips brushed against hers. He drowned in her presence and forgot that the rest of the world existed.

The stitches that held his mouth closed felt like a distant memory.

**Author's Note:**

> If you want to know what I'm writing next click over [HERE](https://crownonymous.tumblr.com/sched)  
> If you want to stay updated on the progress I've made on my fics click [HERE](https://crownonymous.tumblr.com/tagged/crownonynews)  
> And if you want to come say hi or just get bombarded with random posts, you can find me over [HERE](https://landofsaltandshade.tumblr.com/)


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